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8
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love, Christopher Marlowe
After I’ve dropped Maisie off at her flat, my mobile rings. It’s Stephen.
‘Hi,’ I chime, trying to inject a modicum of enthusiasm into my voice.
‘Hi, Emmie. Where are you?’
‘One minute away from home,’ I answer. ‘Please don’t tell me you have to work.’
‘Well…’
‘Oh, Stephen…’
‘Don’t be mad. I got tied up.’
Is it normal for him to do this? Is it normal for me to be so upset I want to cry? I was looking forward to a good solid hug after all those emotions in Starry Cove.
‘Right,’ I sigh, resigned. ‘See you tomorrow.’
But when I get in, dragging my wheelie suitcase behind me, Stephen is standing right there, in the middle of my flat, carrying a soup tureen to the table, all smiles.
‘Welcome back, Emmie!’ He takes my luggage from me and kisses me.
In total shock, I stare at him. ‘What are youdoinghere?’
He shrugs, a warm smile on his face. ‘Can’t a man make his fiancée a welcome home dinner? I’ve missed you, Emmie.’
I swallow, suddenly moved by his demonstration of affection. ‘Thank you.’
‘How was Cornwall? Your grandmother?’
‘Oh…’ I breathe. ‘I didn’t get to meet her. She was, er, away.’Reading a book in Truro.
‘You see – I told you that your family is here, with me,’ he says, wrapping his arms around me as I lean against him.
‘Yes.’
‘Come, come, before it gets cold. I’ve made your favourite – beef stew.’
Actually, that’s his favourite, but I’m not complaining. I wash my hands and face, slip off my shoes and sink into my chair as he passes me a smoking hot serving.
‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ he says. ‘Speaking of family…’
I try not to groan. What has the MIL done now?
I paste a smile on my face. ‘Yes?’
‘Well, Mum’s told me what our wedding gift is going to be.’
‘Oh?’ You’d figure she’d wait for me to get back to tell us at the same time. Or maybe even ask us if there’s something we need. But no, I’m not going to go down that road. I’m not going to be bitchy about it like my newfound grandmother. I’m going to rise above the small stuff. ‘So, what’s the gift?’
He pours me some red wine, a huge smile on his face. ‘She’s paying for all the renovations –andthe new furniture.’
‘But we haven’t even chosen a place yet. You can’t buy furniture and… sorry, renovations?’
Stephen puts down his spoon and steeples his fingers together. ‘Of the east wing.’
